*Harper*
I wake up to the sound of Rafe singing very off-key to some ‘90s alt-rock song in the kitchen. It takes me a second to remember where I am, why my legs are tangled in a sheet that smells like him, and why my heart already aches before my feet even hit the floor.
Today’s the day.
I sit up, blinking at the sunlight pouring in through the half-open blinds. Rafe’s room is packed up, a cardboard box labeled TROPHIES + RANDOM s**t sits by the door, and his dresser drawers hang open, mostly empty. It feels wrong, like the room itself is bracing for the goodbye we’re both pretending isn’t coming.
I pull on one of his T-shirts, feeling vulnerable and pathetic, and follow the smell of coffee into the kitchen. Rafe is standing at the stove, shirtless, flipping pancakes like a domestic
